Past Dawn's Turning
by Nascha14
Summary: Sequel to In the Midnight Hour - 1888. Aoshi and Misao must go to England to fetch Raku Toshibu's daughters, and despite the help of friend's that Aoshi made on his last journey to the continents, things aren't going to be easy. There is a horror stalking the Autumn streets of Whitechapel and Raku's daughters may not be as so willing to return home as Aoshi and Misao thought.


I'm baaaaack! Happy Thanksgiving. May you have many fangirl moments to be thankful for in the coming year.

Obligatory and Obvious Disclaimer: Still don't own Rurouni Kenshin. It's a damn shame.

 **Past Dawn's Turning**

 **Chapter One**

 **An Ominous Wind**

 **...**

"I am looking for Shinomori Aoshi."

The old man blinked owlishly and drew his glasses up onto his nose. The young man standing before him looked careworn, and that made him suspicious. His clothes were covered in dust and the lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed shadows underneath the skin. All things aside, his eyes were bright, and energy seemed to pulse from every inch of him. If the old man had been superstitious, he would have thought him to be a god.

The old man shifted uncomfortably and played with the hem of his sleeve. It was barely past dawn's turning over and he had only just set up his cart. Vegetables fresh and crisp! The best in all of Kyoto!

Well, passable anyway, and certainly better than those from old Watanabe's cart further along. The old man huffed and his breath skated out silver onto the chilly air. The sun was slowly climbing from the horizon, but it had yet to shed any real warmth. Later it would be glorious, but for the moment his joints were aching and he was some pissant pestering him. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.

"Shinomori Aoshi, eh? Never heard of him."

The young man smiled, not threateningly, but there was an eerie edge to it. A knowing.

"Oh, that simply cannot be true. I have heard otherwise."

"Have you now? Been in Kyoto long?"

"Long enough."

"Is that so."

"Hm, I should think."

The old man narrowed his eyes and leaned back. Yes, it was going to be a glorious spring morning, filled with sunshine and bird song. He didn't need this sort of to do. Not on a day like today.

"Why are you looking for this Shinomori Aoshi anyway? So determined!"

The young man smiled and then cast his glance sideways. A woman, handsome and dignified though simple enough in dress, had come up to the cart. She paid the stranger no heed, but greeted the old man warmly.

"Ah, Nakagawa-san! A beautiful morning!"

"Indeed. What can I do for you, Miss Sae?"

"Oh! I just need leeks. And maybe some of those mushrooms there."

"Running short, are you? Business is good?"

"Always! I'm pleased you ask. But this is for a special dinner. You know little Misao? Oh! She's leaving soon for some grand adventure. I'd like to make her some of her favorite miso before she goes."

The old man smiled kindly and patted the woman on her hand. He began to gather the items swiftly, but made careful enough note of the way the stranger's eyes had flashed as the mention of a certain pretty ninja's name. She was well known enough in those parts, but for gods' sakes what could this man want with _her_?

"Very kind of you." He hummed carefully. "Will this do?"

He kept one eye on the stranger while he packaged up the woman's purchases. She beamed and chattered about how things were going at her restaurant. Eventually, she departed with a smile, offering a hasty bow in apology to the stranger, who still stood by and loomed. He returned the bow, but only with the slightest inclination of his head.

"So about Shinomori-san. I was hoping –"

"You already mentioned." The old man met the stranger's statement coldly. "Now, I already said, I don't know no Shinomori Aoshi. If you don't plan on buying anything, I'll assume you'll be on your way."

He tried to sound as vicious as possible. The stranger only smiled warmly.

"Yes." He agreed. "I'll be moving on then. Do you happen to know the way to the Aoiya?"

The old man feigned stupidity. "Aoiya, eh? The inn? It's near the market district."

"Thank you. Have a wonderful day, sir."

And with that, the stranger departed with another one of his stiff bows. His Japanese was good, but his accent strangely twanged. The old man would have put all his life's savings on a bet that the stranger wasn't from in town – nay – nor was he from Japan.

"Strange indeed." He muttered. Ducking down behind his cart. There he scrawled a hasty message in ink on burlap and rolled it tightly.

Between crates of vegetable, there was a small cage. He opened it and released a disheveled, wiry pigeon. The bird scrabbled to his shoulder and cooed softly.

"I have a message, darling. To Aoiya you go."

The pigeon gurgled happily, whether in assent or simple inanity was unclear. Very carefully the man stuffed the message into a small case attached to the bird's ankle. The pigeon puffed up, then with a little shoo for encouragement, launched from the man's shoulder and into the bright dawn sky.

"Odd." The old man grumbled, watching the bird's form fade away. "What could that man want with the okashira?"

And that was all, for a new customer had arrived. The old man turned with a smile and proceeded with pleasantries.

But his concern and fear never left him. It wasn't everyday a stranger came calling at his cart, and certainly not one looking for Shinomori Aoshi.

He hoped the pigeon would reach its destination in time.

…

Shinomori Misao had known exactly what sort of day it was going to be the moment she woke. It had been cold and she had been alone.

That she was alone was, in itself, unusual. Normally she woke in the arms of her lover and husband. Though, as of late, that he become rarer and rarer. They were about to depart the Aoiya and he had become restless, sullen. He had started leaving her in the early hours of the morning. She had thought it a phase or a tick.

But here was the evidence that, perhaps, it was not as out of the ordinary as she thought. Missing again. It pained her. And though it was a patently good thing, in light of their immanent departure, she couldn't help but feel it might have had something to do with her failure to conceive.

They had not been careful. That had not mattered.

Sometimes it shocked her how much her life had changed in the last two years. Just two springs ago she had been betrothed to a man who was wholly unsuited. At the time, she had loved him, so she thought. Maybe she had. But that had been an entirely different sort of tale. There was much strife and bloodshed and many tears. But now that man was gone, out in the wide world, and the man she truly loved shared her bed. She was glad for it, most of the time.

Her life was not the only thing that had changed following those dark days. Things around the Aoiya had settled as well, and they had settled into a comfortable existence. Omasu was increasingly enamored with and pestered by the ridiculous Keijiro Rin – an old Oniwaban spy who had taken up life as a police officer following the revolution. He had helped in the days leading up to Misao and Aoshi's wedding. Misao loved him dearly, but ridiculous he remained. He often stopped by, under the pretense of seeing Aoshi. He insisted it was because he happened to pass by their neighborhood on the way home after work. Everyone knew the truth: he lived nowhere near the Aoiya, and it was Omasu he came calling to see.

He and Omasu would sit in the tea room while he prattled and preened. Initially, when the courtship started, she had suffered him in annoyance, held there only by her sense of duty as a hostess. Now, some months later, her smile was indulgent instead of tense. Sometimes – as Misao liked to note and tease over – Omasu would turn pale pink when she thought Rin wasn't looking. On rarer occasions, she would straighten the little man's lapel or absentmindedly smooth a tuft of flyaway hair. Rin would beam and no one could suffer to be around him after that. His gloating was not of the quiet variety.

Everyone was pleased, perhaps Okina most of all. "Once Oniwaban, always Oniwaban, you know!" He would chortle. Rin would wink and Omasu blush and it was all too much to bear. So unbearable that it made Misao want to puke.

Ochika was a different matter. For a long time following the events of that fateful spring it had remained obvious that she was carrying on with Hiko Seijuro. They did not often see him there at Aoiya and when they did his stay was pleasant but brief. More often, Ochika would disappear for a few days at a time, sending Omasu and Okina into such a state that they would still be yelling at her for a previous infraction of the sort when she would disappear yet again.

When she was home however, the scolding softened because of tears more often than anyone wanted to admit. Ochika, afterall, had reached a juncture where she was certain that she wanted more out of the arrangement.

And it was quite clear that Hiko did not.

Ochika rarely talked about it. Omasu and Misao did not dare to tread there – not when _they_ had finally found their hard-won happiness. At that, they were probably selfish in not offering her their support, but they also knew that Hiko was not a man to be tamed. If he were, they assumed it would have happened long ago. Ochika should have known that. She did, really, but she chose not to believe it. It was a way to protect her heart. So she suffered on in silence and tears.

As for Okina, it was as if he couldn't bear to see her heart broken. He remained cordial with Hiko, but in a cold sort of fashion. Hiko was wide to this, and despite his nature, he did not goad the old man.

For you see, Okina _was_ quite old. That was a topic all of them avoided, if only because it was becoming more and more painfully obvious with each passing day. He needed care at all times. He fell asleep at the dinner table and he often forgot what he was saying halfway through a sentence. Just recently he had, at times, started to require assistance in the latrine. It was much to his mortification and at first he would only allow Aoshi to come to his aid. Then there came a time when Aoshi was away and he could not wait. In those times he would swallow his pride and allow Omasu or Ochika to help. But never Misao. She was glad for that. It allowed her the luxury of pretending, sometimes, that Okina was only tired, rather than getting on in years.

All of these realities chased themselves around her mind on that lonely morning. Overarching them all was the reality that she had again started her courses the night before. She was not with child. It gladdened and pained her. Outside an ominous wind was rattling in the eaves and it darkened her heart. They would be leaving soon. Would old Okina get to see the next Shinomori in line? Would they return before he passed? Maybe if she had been with child they could have stayed a while longer and allowed Okina the pleasure before setting off to get Raku Toshibu's girls from England.

That was where they were going after all. To London. To fetch Aiko and Takia Toshibu and bring them home. But it turned out, now was not so good a time to leave.

Was it ever?

So, in the fading morning, she rose up and began to prepare for the day. And a dreadful day it was going to be.

...

The first thing to go wrong happened almost immediately. Still a little groggy and a tad clumsy for it, she stumbled while pulling on her kimono. As she tried to catch her balance she stepped on the hem and heard the fabric tear. It was a disaster. Rather than let it go, she promptly sat down in a huff and mended it. The room was dimly lit however and her fingers were poked full of holes and bleeding by the time she was done. Grumbling, she bandaged them, finished dressing, and went out into the rest of the Aoiya.

It turned out that she had slept in. The rest of the household was awake and tending to their many guests. How she had slept through the racket was a mystery. Omasu agreed that it was a mystery indeed and plopped a sack full of dirty guest laundry and linens into her arms. She nearly toppled again. She immediately took it outside for washing, not without a fair amount of grumbling. There was a great deal to get through and by the time she was done hanging everything under the eaves behind the house, she was soaked with sweat and her hair tumbling out of it's pretty up-do. Ochika, stepping outside to dump the dishwater from the guest's breakfast started to comment that she was losing a hairpin. Misao favored her with such a grimace that the other woman made a hasty retreat. But not before tossing away the water….in such a way that half of it splashed back up onto Misao and her freshly cleaned laundry.

Misao might have killed her, but Omasu caught both she and her kunai flying the through the hall. She gave Misao a firm swat on her nose with a fan and pushed her towards the back of the house once more. As the younger woman stomped off to fix what had been ruined, she heard the older woman bustle up to the upstairs rooms to turn them over and prepare them for new guests.

It was spring, one of the busiest seasons, and while they no longer ran a restaurant there were plenty of chores to go around.

After repairing the damage that had been done, Misao stomped back into the Aoiya to help prepare afternoon meals for the guests. The water for the laundry had been icy, the outdoor air still chilled despite the sun. Now out of the reach of the sunlight, the sweat she had worked up made her shiver. The kitchen was blessedly warm and she held her hands before the stove as long as she dared. Then, Omasu bustled in with a basket of vegetables and the work began anew. Chopping, slicing, boiling, simmering. These were the things that wore the afternoon away. They drew up trays and served their guests as they returned from their day on the town. Along with other duties, the women saw the day fade away. Misao worked up her mounting frustration as her muscles grew increasingly weary. At some point after three, she burned her hand properly and was send away from the kitchen to bandage it and prepare tea for those returning closer to sunset.

All together, it would have been a normal day, she reflected, except that Aoshi was not there and the future loomed.

It was after dark before she really had a moment to breathe. She and the other women ate a hasty dinner in the kitchen together. Then, Omasu sent Ochika to market to fetch a few things, and advised Misao, not without an air of sympathy, that she could take some time for herself.

"About damn time." Misao grumbled.

"…unless you'd rather clean the – "

"No, that's quite all right."

Before Omasu could stop her, she had stepped outside and slipped on her sandals. Taking a lantern from in the eaves, she capered down into the garden and disappeared around the side of the Aoiya.

It was now cold enough that her breath was visible in the silvery shine of the moonlight. The glow from the lantern cast it with just enough amber to make it look like she was breathing clouds of fire. She thought on this, and giggled.

With care to avoid the places where the earth was spring-soft, she made her way for the stone bench in the farthest corner of the garden. It was beneath a plum tree that had been planted just three Summers before. In the short, intervening years it has flourished, especially after the unusually wet spring in which she had nearly married the wrong man. She shuddered at the thought.

The night suddenly felt much colder. She set the lantern down and sat beside it. Through the thin fabric of her kimono, she could feel the icy touch of the bench. She shivered and drew her arms around herself.

"I don't want to go."

The words escaped her. She let them, and felt better for it.

There it was: the source of her foul mood all day long. Certainly, the usual chores and hectic life inside the inn had been particularly wearing, and waking alone had not helped, but her mood had been especially sour and there was the reason. She did not want to fetch Raku's girls. She and Aoshi should have gone all those months ago when Abdas had first shown up on their door. She had been willing then, and if they had, they would most likely already be on their way back.

But he had not listened to her. He had insisted it was not safe to leave then. Now, when it was finally time to do so, she realized that it was not _smart_.

What was everyone at the Aoiya going to do without them?

Misao knew they could take care of themselves, but her mind kept circling back to poor old Okina, and the busy summer months ahead. Life would be difficult with two less sets of hands. Who would handle the finances, in addition to the rest of the work, if not Aoshi? Omasu could do it and had in the past during Aoshi's other absences. As for the more physical labor, they had done well enough without Misao before, even with twice as many rooms and a restaurant to worry about.

But there had been more people living in the Aoiya full time then as well too, and Okina's mind had still been sharp.

It was all going to be such a mess. Misao put her head in her hands.

Then, as she felt tears beginning to prick at her eyes, off in the darkness she heard a familiar sound: the latch on the gate.

She sat up and grappled for the lantern. A few clumsy moments later, she was on her feet, wiping her nose with one sleeve and picking her way back around the side of the house.

It could only have been one person, and she heaved a sigh of relief at the thought. It was the person she needed very most in that moment. She looked up and smiled at the stars where they twinkled. She still felt a small, tight knot of worry deep in her chest, but at least now she could level her concerns. Aoshi would listen, and maybe even offer up some words of cool, simple logic. It would not be comfort; he rarely comforted.

But it would do.

She gathered herself, checked her hair, and walked around the front of the Aoiya. She made it only a few steps before she stopped and felt every muscle in her body tense.

She had been right of course. It was her beloved. Aoshi was home.

But he was not alone.


End file.
